


The Vampire Next Door Won't Let Me In

by Kamu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamu/pseuds/Kamu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern vampire under the guise of an exhausted, unemployed teenager gets acquainted with his annoying salary man neighbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vampire Next Door Won't Let Me In

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if this counts as crack? I saw this in my drive just sitting there and thought, Might as well finish this as a oneshot.

Plit.

"Get me some mochi from the nearby convenience store, will you please, Kyoutani?" was what Watari, his neighbor, pleaded fifteen minutes ago. "My girlfriend’s staying over and I’ll split the cost for you if you run into any trouble."

Drip.

Kyoutani glares at the gushing river water in front of him and the growing puddles of rain beside him. He scoots the bag of food closer in his lap so none of it gets wet from the leaking underpass. A drop slides off the plastic and drips onto his palm. It sizzles and leaves a red mark in its place, which fades just as fast.

Too fucking late.

He had already been nursing a headache when the air started doing that humid and muggy thing it does before a storm. He was hungry, sluggish, and in need of space to burn off the extra energy he had tucked all day indoors. It had slipped his mind earlier when he was purchasing his stuff to actually buy an umbrella for himself, until the first drop had stung his shoulder, forcing him to sprint to the nearest place for cover.

Kyoutani should have asked for a down payment.

With his head in between his knees, and a migraine pounding insistently into the back of his forehead, Kyoutani swears that the world really wanted to fuck him over.

It wouldn’t be the first time, not even the tenth. Living within proximity of Oikawa Tooru for most of his undead life had pushed all those thoughts of normalcy down the drain. Unrelatedly, his adopted human father had assumed he was a pushover and a disappointment, up until Kyoutani had run away from home. By then, Kyoutani had stopped caring.

_Caring about what, Mad Dog-chan?_

A voice resembling Oikawa’s echoes in his head, having took the place of his conscience. The state of pestering is about the same level, though, if not more so. It’s annoying when he thinks he’s alone to suffer through his problems, and then this fucker’s voice interrupts him and reminds him it doesn’t have to be that way, and maybe he can do something about it.

“What can I do surrounded by weakness on all sides?” Kyoutani groans and roughly sifts his hands through his hair, his fingers dragging up excess water and stinging all the while. “Should I throw myself into the river and get it all over with?”

Oikawa (his conscience) doesn’t respond back.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

His hand, when he brings it up for inspection, looks to have first degree burns. He waits for his body’s immune system to kick in and watches the process of healing with disinterest.

When half the skin returns to normal, the rain picks up and his ears catch some intense swearing to his right where it was easiest to get under the bridge from the path beside the river. Through the water pouring off the side of the underpass, Kyoutani sees a person squinting and trying to get a look at him.

“A dog?” he can faintly hear them murmur in confusion as a clap of thunder roars above them. “Ugh, everything is soaked!”

The stranger who can apparently see things, a guy looking not much older than a university student, rushes and squats near his side under the dry space of the underpass. He shakes himself a little and pushes away the strands of light hair where it’s plastered to his forehead. He glances at Kyoutani and widens his eyes in surprise.

“You’re not a dog.” His statement comes out like a question.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Kyoutani bites out, his tone more irritated than intended. He glares distastefully where there’s another puddle forming under the guy’s expensive looking office shoes. “Get away from me.”

“Alright, I know I’m drenched, but what the hell.” The guy raises his hands in mock offense and scoots a little farther away from Kyoutani. He sounds a little bit wounded and pissed off. “I’ll be out of your hair once the weather lets up, okay?”

Kyoutani doesn’t answer, withdrawing more into his huddle and staring into the brown water instead of introducing himself to the guy. A quick glance at him shows how miserable he looks with his office clothes sticking wet and see-through where it clings to his skin.

From his short talk and appearance, Kyoutani can sum up that the guy is probably employed at some professional company, likely as an intern. The way he fidgets and tries to fix his hair to however neatly it was combed dry cues him in that he’s a character like Oikawa, smart and vaguely an ass about it.

How Kyoutani knows he’s a jerk is up to his intuition. Too many suspicious people have approached him before, and he had grown a sense for who’s a normal and who’s an ass.

Judging from the way the guy is silently cursing under his breath and clutching his shaking arms to his chest, Kyoutani concludes he’s a smartass under the guise of a normal.

Noting the shivers, Kyoutani gives in, but not without some mental fight.

“Here,” he gruffly says. He puts down the bag, pulls off his sweatshirt, and tosses it at the guy’s head. “Don’t die on me. The rain won’t stop for another ten minutes.”

“Ah.” He pinches the sweatshirt between his fingers like he can’t believe Kyoutani just offered something nice out of his own will. “Thanks, um…?”

“Kyoutani,” he says shortly, resuming his former sitting position. Getting let into his building with just his undershirt isn’t a problem, as long as he’s not shirtless. Kyoutani adds as an afterthought, “My clothes aren’t dirty, so use that as a towel or something.”

“Kyoutani, thanks,” the guy says, hesitating a second before shedding his suit jacket and tie in favor of patting the wetness out of his hair. “Yahaba Shigeru. I would usually have my card in this case but, as you know…”

Kyoutani grunts in acknowledgment. He turns slightly away in an attempt to tell Yahaba the conversation is over.

_Stop talking to me._

“Do you live in the area?” Yahaba looks him over, as if it wasn’t obvious Kyoutani was in his sweats and sandals. It’s a rhetorical question.

“Yeah.” Now please leave him alone.

“Ah!” Snapping his fingers and pointing it at him, Yahaba exclaims loudly, “Aren’t you the unemployed shut-in in Seijou?”

God, now he has a _rep_ among the tenants. “So what?” he growls, sliding his eyes to glare at him.

“You own dogs, don’t you?” Yahaba's eyes sparkle as he leans into his personal bubble everyone obviously should respect without asking, except apparently this guy who has a thing about prodding and prying and invading people's space.

“No, I don’t.”

Yahaba lowers his eyebrows in confusion. “But late at night there’s always barking and growling—”

“I. Do. Not. Own. A. Dog.” Kyoutani enunciates his words slowly for him to understand. His ears pick up the sound of rain falling away. He stands up and carefully starts climbing the wet river bank. “So drop it.”

Behind him, he hears Yahaba scramble to catch up to him. There’s another round of cursing as he steps into the puddle Kyoutani had purposely avoided.

“That’s a lie,” Yahaba says at his shoulder once he stopped swearing a sailor to shame. “Watari complains all the time about the noise.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Kyoutani asks, turning to Yahaba when his feet hits the pavement.

Yahaba doesn’t say anything but he can see it in his eyes, smug and asshole-ish as he grins down at him.

“I can’t believe an ass like you lives in my building,” Kyoutani grumbles. He heads down the path at a fast walk, hoping he could end this discussion before it got more shitty for him.

“I can’t believe the landlord let you keep dogs,” Yahaba chimes, keeping pace with him. He has Kyoutani’s sweatshirt tucked under his arm along with his suitcase. “Can I see them?”

“No, shit,” Kyoutani refuses instantly.

“Sorry, what was that? Don’t worry, I don’t shit where I eat. Can I assume this is you inviting me to dinner?” Yahaba skips ahead and peers at Kyoutani. “Oh, I think it is.”

“Shut up. I didn’t invite your wet ass anywhere.”

Yahaba smirks. “Your insults are reflexive, aren’t they? Your comeback game is weak, Kyoutani.”

He shifts the bag from one hand to the other to hide how he had flinched when Yahaba said his name.

“Leave me alone.” There, he said it. They turn a corner and the building comes into view.

Yahaba tilts his head. “Why? Trying to keep the big, drenched stranger from tainting your pure beings of good things and sunshine?” he asks.

Kyoutani casts a weird glance at him as he pushes open the gate to the property. “You’re really hung up about my dogs,” he observes, heading toward the stairs. “Which I don’t have.”

“I love dogs.” Yahaba follows him and stops at a door a few doors down. “You could just be saying that.”

Kyoutani fishes out his key and inserts it into the lock. “I don’t own any dogs,” he repeats with finality.

Yahaba leans out his door and grins. “We can’t both be right,” he hums.

“Don’t bother me again,” Kyoutani says, “or my hypothetical dogs.”

“Highly unlikely,” Yahaba replies somberly.

“Goodbye.”

“I’ll see you later!”

Kyoutani slams his door, locks the five or so deadbolts, and slides down it to put his face in his hands.

His feet sting from dragging through the wet grass, and he had to act like he was fine the whole way back. He eyes the bag next to him; he even forgot to give Watari the mochi in his haste to get the heck out of there.

“I don’t own a dog,” he says to the empty apartment.

Who did Yahaba think he was, buggering Kyoutani to speaking when he was clearly uncomfortable? Kyoutani had bothered to loan him his sweatshirt, which he still had by the way. Kyoutani owes him nothing as far as he was concerned. The least Yahaba could do was leave well enough alone and mind his own business and return his favorite sweatshirt he got as a present from Iwaizumi, the only human Kyoutani would ever acknowledge.

Kyoutani doesn’t realize a low growl had been escaping from his lips until it crescendos in volume as he lets out his irritation at the image of Yahaba’s shit-eating grin.

“What was that?” a girl’s voice says from the other side of the thin walls.

“My neighbor’s dog,” Watari grumbles.

“Is that allowed?”

“It’s usually very tame when Kyoutani’s gone...huh, I wonder if he came back yet? I’ll go out and see.”

Humans and their busybody ways...when would they ever learn.

Kyoutani scans over his apartment, at the multitude of silver chains and collars, and the straight jacket and the blood packets he had laying around like magazines. The deep scratch marks scattered above his bed were reminders from when he decided to move in a year ago, the first time Oikawa had allowed Kyoutani to live among society and he didn’t know any better to what that would entail.

The knock on his door was faster than he thought. He gets up and takes a deep breath, steeling himself to quickly deal with Watari and his half-assed transaction.

Kyoutani swears he would never invite anyone into his apartment as long as he lived unsuccessfully among humans.


End file.
